


Destinationless

by Zorro_sci



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, M/M, guilty!Bruce, homeless!Bruce, hurt!Tony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-16 10:49:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2266947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zorro_sci/pseuds/Zorro_sci
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce did the unthinkable.  He hurt Tony.  Now he's on the road, trying to put as much distance between them as possible to protect the man he loves from the thing that could be his undoing .  . . Bruce.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Walking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ME](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=ME).



> Me asked for homeless, guilty Bruce, so that's what this is. Hope you enjoy!

The rain pounded mournfully against the asphalt; the gray, dreary sky mirroring Bruce's gloomy countenance, as he followed the highway. He didn't know where he was going, only that it needed to be someplace far away from New York. Far away from towers that climbed too high in the Manhattan skyline. Far from "earth's mightiest heroes." Far from an annoying, arrogant, emotionally-stunted man, who actually wasn't any of those things once you got to know him. 

He needed to get away, so last night he had started walking. He had walked until he was exhausted, and then spent the rest of the night huddled under old newspapers in a ditch by the freeway. The newspapers did little to keep out the early autumn chill, and the exhaustion had done little to stop his whirring mind. In the end, sleep had proved difficult, though he did drift off eventually.

After a few short hours of sleep, he had awoken and continued his destination-less journey. The destination wasn't the point, so much as the running. He figured maybe if he kept running he could forget the memories that seemed to play on loop in his mind just to haunt him. Maybe he could forget why he was once again drifting through life without a place to call his own. He could try to forget what he had done to lose his home, because he knew that after what had happened, he didn't deserve one. Besides, a return to a life of wandering was a return to an unattached life, and that was safer for everyone. 

If only he had returned to that life before . . . he shook his head to clear the thought and turned his focus to his feet. They kept a steady rhythm, heading West. Heading away from the destruction he had wrought, and away from the one thing that might tempt him to stop his wandering feet. Well, might have before. Before he ruined things, like he always eventually did. Before he had broken one of the few things he had dared to hold precious.

No . . .the road was for him. Living like a ghost or shadow passing through the world barely leaving a trace behind. A passing Good Samaritan doing what good he could, and then disappearing almost as quickly as he appeared, leaving people to wonder if he had ever been there at all. That would be his life now. He didn't have any other choice.


	2. Putting him first

Another night, another ditch, another couple hours of sleep stolen between tossing and turning through nightmares. Another night of snatches of sleep filled with memories of vibrant, bright red that contrasted the black night and gray shadows that surrounded him when he opened his eyes. Another night of overwhelming, gut-wrenching guilt. Even by the side of a road, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by mountains and trees, there was no escape from the guilt.

He could hear the screams and the cries of pain. He could feel the thick, wetness of blood on his hands. He could see the growing crimson pool. Worst of all, he could taste the dread as he realized what they all meant. When he realized what he had done.

He had killed him. He had killed the only man he had ever loved. . . . No! No he hadn't! Tony was alive. He hadn't left until he was sure of it. He had sat what felt like interminable hours in the hospital until the doctors had told him that Tony was out of surgery. Tony had survived, and he was going to make a full recovery. He would be fine. But when he had started to wake up, Bruce knew that he wouldn't stay fine if Bruce stayed. 

They had been lucky this time. Next time they may not be so lucky. So as Tony's eyes had started to flutter open, Bruce had left as quickly as he could. He had walked out of the small room, out of the hospital, and out of the state of New York. He had no idea where he would end up, but as long as it was far away from Tony, he knew the other man would be better off.

Tears sat in his eyes as he remembered the events of the last few days, he huffed to himself and got back to his feet. There would be no sleeping tonight, so he may as well keep wandering. The greater the distance, the less temptation there was to turn around. Or so he hoped. He couldn't risk going back, no matter how much he wanted to go home. Not if he truly loved Tony. Not if he loved him enough to put him first.


	3. Hell on Wheels

The next day someone pulled over to offer him a ride. He said they could bring him as far as Chicago. At first he was reluctant. He felt like he should avoid people. Then he decided that it was probably best to take him up on his offer. 

After two days of walking he wasn't even half-way across Pennsylvania, and having the chance to quickly add distance was probably for the best.

"So where are you heading?" the driver asked pleasantly.

"West," Bruce answered simply.

"Looking for a job? Times have been hard. Doesn't seem like there are enough jobs to go around. I hear there's work to be found in North Dakota if you're willing to work with the new oil sand extraction," he commented.

Maybe that wasn't such a bad idea. Go to some boom town that sprung up overnight around the oil business. Work with other transients, and get lost in the shuffle of constant new faces. 

Then again, no one was more chummy with the oil companies than the US government, especially the military. They went through oil like it was going out of style, so they definitely had a vested interested in those nothing, little oil towns. Moving to one of them was far too likely to get him noticed, and he was far from willing to go back with Ross.

He shuddered at the thought of Ross finding him.

"You alright?" his traveling companion asked.

"Yeah, fine," he said quickly.

"Not a big fan of the oil business?" the other man asked curiously.

"Not really. My last job was in clean energy," Bruce said.

It wasn't really a lie. He had helped Tony with his arc reactor technology for months, even helped him make some major improvements. It just wasn't the whole truth.

"Well, if your business is clean energy, you're going the wrong way my friend. All the major happenings in green energy are in New York. Everyone's moving there in hopes of getting the jump on Stark Industries. Though I suppose you already know that if that's your field of expertise. 

Personally, I don't think anyone is going to manage to come up with a more cost efficient way to produce clean energy than Stark. His arc reactor technology is amazing. I don't fully understand it, but I do know it's far cheaper and more effective than solar, wind, hydro or biofuel. At least from what I've heard. 

Plus, Stark's a genius and he's ruthless about hiring the brightest minds around. Hard to keep up with that. Did you ever consider working for him?" he said, trying to make conversation.

Bruce froze. He wasn't sure what to say, but it seemed like almost any response he gave would lead to a conversation about Tony, and that was the last thing he wanted. Why did he have to say he was in clean energy? He could have said anything. 

"I did work for him for a while, but it was time to move on," he said, deciding near truthfulness was the best route, (and hoping the other man would take the hint and stop the current line of conversation).

"You did? Did you ever meet him? What is he like? You hear so many things in the gossip rags and stuff, but I hardly think those paint an accurate picture of a person," the man said.

"I saw him from a distance once, but I never officially met him," Bruce lied.

He hoped his apparent lack of knowledge would end the topic.

"That's too bad. I imagine it must be something to see him work. I mean, a person doesn't need to be that smart to run a company, look at some of the Bozos that run some of the Fortune 500 companies, but Stark has the smarts to back up his company. 

He's not just a figure head, he actually can contribute. Although I wonder if he made that Pepper Potts lady CEO because he wasn't as good at the managing side. . . . At any rate, you've got to admire a guy who still rolls up his sleeves and gets involved in the nitty-gritty, even though he would never have to work a day in his life," the driver rambled.

Bruce nodded absently. He was officially in his own version of hell, stuck in a car for the next ten hours with a man who apparently really wanted to talk about the _one person_ Bruce was actively trying _**not**_ to think about.

"Then there's all the Iron Man stuff. I don't know if that's admirable or crazy. I mean, flying around in a shiny metal suit, trying to save the day . . .on the one hand it's pretty brave, but it also seems kinda suicidal. And don't we have the military, and police, and National Guard and everything like that to protect us? 

I mean, he's turned himself into a superhero like something out of a comic book . . .that just might be insane. I mean how many times has he had one of his houses blown up? And from the footage I saw, he would have been flatten like a pancake during that thing in New York with the aliens if it hadn't been for that big, green guy . . .the Hulk . . .or whatever," the other man continued.

Bruce took steadying breaths and tried not to think about all the trouble that Tony could, and probably would, get himself into without him there. The billionaire was reckless at the best of times, especially in the Iron Man suit, and Hulk had saved his life more than once. He reminded himself that the rest of the team would look out for Tony, and that no matter how many times Hulk helped Tony, he couldn't be relied on not to smash him. He'd found that out the hard way . . . 

" . . . Good way to get chicks. I mean now that he and his lady CEO split he doesn't have any reason not to take home any lady who catches his eyes. I doubt many of them turn him down. 

Though _The Daily Bugle_ said he was in some sort of serious relationship with a mystery man. I didn't know Stark swung that way, though I suppose he has a reputation for sleeping with anything that moves, still, getting serious with a guy would be pretty surprising even for him. Though, it was the _Bugle_ , and they're really not much better than a gossip rag about that sort of thing. They could have just made the whole thing up."

Definitely his own private hell, Bruce thought again as he redoubled his efforts to control his breathing. They could not get to Chicago soon enough.


	4. The News

Bruce and his chatty travel companion _finally_ reached Chicago after what felt like two or three times more than the ten hours they were actually together. The other man wished him luck and left him on the sidewalk. He thanked the other man, and then started walking.

He hadn't gotten far when his stomach growled, and he realized that he had neglected to eat for over forty-eight hours. He hadn't had so much as a crumb since he left New York, despite many offers from the chatty driver to share his food. 

Bruce had claimed he wasn't hungry, and he had truly thought that was the case. But now that he allowed himself to feel his hunger, it was sharp, insistent and all-consuming. He could think of little else than filling his stomach.

A hole-in-the-wall diner a few streets away showed some promise, so he walked inside and sat at the counter. The waitress took his order immediately, and before long he was sipping awful black tea and making his way through a breakfast platter. The food was mediocre, but at least it silenced the chant for food that had blocked all other thought.

Bruce was starting to formulate the next part of his plan when the news on the television above the counter caught his attention. They were displaying a picture of Tony in the upper-righthand corner of the screen while the blurb at the bottom of the screen read "Stark in critical condition."

He turned his attention to the report just in time to hear the anchor take a breath and say, "Billionaire Tony Stark is in critical condition after having his condition upgraded for the second time in as many days. 

Only two short days ago it was thought that he was well on his way to recovery after doctors declared him to be stable. Hopes that the innovator would soon be back to his normal self were dashed last night when he was upgraded back to serious condition, and were disminished further by the recent announcement.

Rumors abound about the decline in Stark's health, supposed causes ranging from complications of the surgery he underwent earlier this week, to a heart attack, to Mr. Stark simply losing the will to live. 

All of the rumors paint a picture of a man at death's door. An idea that is in no way lessened by repeated pleas by Stark Industry CEO, Pepper Potts, for the press and public to respect Mr. Stark's privacy. 

Ms. Potts is refusing to answer any questions at this time, leaving speculation to continue to run wild."

The anchor then moved on to some other topic, and Bruce realized just how fast his heart was beating. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths, focusing on slowing down the staccato pounding in his chest. 

He had no idea what could have happened. Tony was stable when he left. He was stable! Bruce had sat by Tony's bedside until he had been reassured that the billionaire would be okay. Everything had pointed to it. His vitals had been strong, all of his wounds were properly treated . . .he had even regained consciousness by the time Bruce left. 

What was happening? Why was Tony getting worse? Was Tony really in as bad a condition as they suggested? Was he truly in danger of dying?

Bruce's stomach dropped at the implications if the news report was correction. If what they said was true . . .he didn't want to think about it. 

He paid the cashier and walked back out into the streets. Part of him itched to find a pay phone and call one of the others to check in on Tony, if only to get a more accurate assessment of what was happening . . .but he couldn't. As soon as he took that step, as soon as he made contact with the life he had left behind, he would risk being drawn back into Tony's orbit. He couldn't let that happen. It wasn't safe. No, he couldn't call, so he just continued to wander the city.


	5. The call

Bruce walked about a mile, and then he could no longer resist the urge to call. He told himself it was a bad idea, but he couldn't stop himself. He needed to know. He needed to hear that Tony was okay.

He dropped his quarters into the pay phone and dialed Steve's number. Then he waited as the line rang. It only rang twice before it was picked up.

"Hello?" Steve's voice questioned.

"Steve, I . . . " Bruce started.

"Bruce! Oh, thank God! We need you here as soon as possible. We can send the Quinjet if you need it, but the sooner you get here the better," the super soldier said in a rush.

"Hold on, what are you talking about? What's going on? I wasn't planning to come back, I just wanted to ask how Tony's doing," Bruce asked.

"He's not doing well at all, Bruce. He won't eat. He keeps trying to get out of bed to find you, even though he's not well enough to be out of bed. And he keeps having panic attacks because he thinks you've been captured or hurt. 

Last night he got so worked up, he started bleeding internally again, and they had to stop the bleeding with another surgery," Steve informed.

Bruce felt his stomach drop. The situation was even worse than he thought.

"That bad, huh?" he asked.

"Yes. So when are you coming back?" the soldier asked again.

"I'm not. I can't. I can't risk hurting Tony again. He's better off without me. He'll get used to it," Bruce said desperately.

"Bruce, I don't know what happened, but I know he's not better off without you. Honestly, I don't think he'll make it if you don't come back. He'll kill himself worrying about you," Steve said matter-of-factly, but his words still sounded like an accusation to Bruce's ears.

"I just . . . . I can't, Steve. I hurt him. I can't . . . .not again," Bruce floundered helplessly, on the verge of tears.

"Bruce, you're hurting him now," Steve said levelly.

"I just . . .can't. Take good care of him. Tell him I'm okay, but I had to leave. Try to make him understand," Bruce pleaded.

"Bruce, I'm not sure I can . . . " the captain started.

"Please do your best. Good bye, Steve," the doctor said, hanging up abruptly.

Unbidden, tears started to roll down his cheeks. Tony was hurting, and he had caused it again. He might die, and it was his fault. But if he went back, he would be putting him in danger then too. It seemed like either way he chose, Tony's life was in peril. He could neither safely stay nor safely go. . .and he had no idea what to do.

He had never felt so helpless or heartbroken in all of his life. Not even when he learned he couldn't die after his failed suicide attempts. This was a whole new level of pain.


	6. Natasha and Clint

He'd walked another couple of miles when someone called his name. He turned around, and to his surprise Natasha and Clint were following him.

"Bruce!" Clint called as the pair jogged to catch up with him.

"What are you doing here?" he asked as the pair fell in beside him and seamlessly matched his pace.

"We're here to take you home, doc," Natasha said casually.

Bruce smiled at her sadly, "I don't have a home. And I don't deserve one. I'm a monster. Monsters live alone. It would have been better if I had never forgotten that."

"Bullshit, doc!" Clint replied.

Bruce opened his mouth to respond, but Natasha held up a hand.

"You think you're the only one with red in your ledger? The only one capable of destruction? Because you're not. We've all done terrible things, but that doesn't mean we need to live like outcasts. We're a team. We belong together," she said.

Clint nodded his agreement.

"Easy for you two to say. When you get destructive you don't quadruple in size. . . You two can control yourselves, I can't. I'm not safe around people," he argued bitterly.

"You think we've always been in control? Nat and I have both done things we aren't proud of. . .things we did against our will, but we moved on. We don't let it define us. 

You have control most of the time, doc. If your control slips from time to time, that makes you human, not a monster," the archer argued.

"I smashed Tony. After all his talk about how the Hulk liked him and would never hurt him, I smashed Tony. . .and the thing is, I should have known. I should have known this would happen, but I let myself hope. I thought maybe Tony was right; I mean, Hulk did save his life and all . . .but he couldn't have been more wrong.

When I de-hulked, his blood was all over my hands. I literally had his blood on my hands. And he was on the floor, broken and smashed, and I knew it was all my fault. I knew only giant fists could have done that to him . . .and for a brief second I thought the worse. I thought he was dead . . .that was the worst moment of my life . . . Then when I realized he was still alive, I vowed that I would do everything I could to make sure he would live, and then I would do what I needed to do to protect him.

Originally I was going to try to find a cure for the Hulk, but I realized that I'd been doing that for years with no results. There may not be one. So I needed to protect Tony from Hulk the only way I could. Keeping the Other Guy away from him . . .and that means keeping _me_ away from him . . . Even if it hurts. Even if it breaks my heart. Because I need to put Tony first," Bruce said vehemently.

"You and Stark are amazing. How can you be geniuses, and yet both be such idiots?" Clint commented.

"He's dying, Bruce," Natasha said softly.

Bruce stared at her in disbelief. He knew that's what Steve had been implying, but he'd been unwilling to hear it. Now, when it was stated plainly, it was harder to deny.

"He's dying. Right now, in a hospital in New York. Not theoretically dying because you lost control and smashed him some time in the future, but actually dying, right now, as we speak. 

He's lost the will to live, and best any of us can tell, you're the best chance he's got at recapturing his fight. 

He might not even make it if you _do_ come back, but at least he'll have a chance. . .and if it doesn't work you'll get the chance to say good-bye," she informed her voice soft, but filled with conviction.

"You deserved to know the truth. Now, what you do with that is your choice. The Quinjet is waiting, if you want to go back, or you can keep going," Clint said levelly.

Bruce closed his eyes a moment. It was all too much. He took a deep breath and then nodded.

"Take me to the jet. I'll come back with you," he sighed.


	7. Home

Walking into Tony's hospital room was like a punch to the gut. It was as if the larger than life presence that was Tony had begun to ebb away in his absence. The billionaire was pale and frail-looking, with bluish hued lips, and heavy, dark circles under his eyes. Most terrifying of all, he looked small tucked into the single bed, and Bruce could never think of a time when that adjective had described the innovator. Despite his short stature, Tony always managed to seem to fill the room he was in, no matter how large the room, or how many other people were in it. 

He dropped himself into the chair beside Tony's bed, and carefully took one of his hands. 

"I'm here, Tony. I came back. I'm sorry I left you . . .now please don't leave me," he pleaded softly.

He received no reply, but he swore that the monitor beside the billionaire's bed suddenly started recording a sinus rhythm where the peaks of an irregular heartbeat had been reported before, and the rasp of Tony's breath seemed to even into something softer. No, it must have been his imagination. His mere presence didn't have that kind of power. Never had, and never would.

Still, he had to wonder, when Tony's eyes suddenly fluttered open.

"Bruce?" he asked weakly.

"Shhhh . . .yes, it's me," he answered gently, holding up a hand to stop Tony from speaking. He needed to save his strength.

"You're okay . . . . I was so worried. When you weren't here, I feared the worst," Tony continued, despite Bruce's attempts to quiet him.

His eyes were so earnest as he expressed his concern for Bruce, that he felt something break inside him. This was wrong. He didn't deserve Tony's concern. Didn't deserve his love.

"Tony, you're a fool," Bruce said bitterly, tears filling his eyes. "Why? Why would you worry about me? I'm the last person who deserves your concern."

Tony looked over at him with confused dark eyes. Eyes that softened as he saw the tears streaming down Bruce's cheeks. He lifted his arm with effort, and wiped away the tears with a trembling hand.

"And you call me the fool?!?" he chided softly, cupping Bruce's cheek in his weak hand. "I love you, Bruce. How could I not worry about you?"

"But I hurt you. I broke your trust. Surely I don't deserve your love after that," Bruce argued, gently removing Tony's hand from his face and putting it back down on the bed.

Tony looked as if he had been struck, his face registering hurt and shock.

"A few cuts and bruises are not enough to make me stop loving you!" he cried vehemently. "And furthermore, _you_ did not do this to me!"

"A few cuts and bruises?!? You had crush injuries so severe the doctors were surprised you lived through the first night! 

And I didn't do this?!? Really?!? Do you think I'm naïve? Your injuries only could have been caused by giant fists, and there's only one person, if you can even call me a person anymore, who has giant fists . . .me! Do you expect me to believe that it wasn't me despite all the evidence to the contrary?!? Your blood was on my hands Tony! They were covered in it! How do you expect to explain that away?!?

I'm a monster, and monsters don't deserve sympathy! They don't deserve love!" Bruce sobbed angrily.

"First of all, don't you dare call the man that I love a monster. You're not; and no one gets away with that, not even you, do you hear me? 

Second, you _**do**_ deserve love, and I will _**never**_ stop loving you, no matter how unworthy you feel, because the idea that you don't deserve love is bullshit. 

Third, you really don't remember, do you?" Tony said softly, his anger past. "Wow, you and the Big Guy really need to improve your communication. Notes, mediative trances, something . . ."

"What are you talking about?" Bruce asked, unamused by Tony's comments.

"It was Doom. He built a bunch of Smash-bots. They're essentially big, metallic versions of the Big Guy. . . .so they broke into the lab and their wall-destroying entrance made you hulk-out. Then they started to smash me, and Hulk went berserk. 

They were pounding me into the ground, but he started batting them off of me like they were flies, and then he carried me over to the far side of the lab and hid me behind a barricade that he made out of some of the rubble. By that point in time, I was in pretty bad shape. I was bleeding all over the place, which is probably why your hands were covered in my blood. 

Then, once he knew I was safe, Hulk turned to take on the rest of the robots, and that's the last thing I remember. I blacked out and when I woke up the next time I was here, and you were gone.

Now can you understand why I was worried? I thought the Smash-bots had somehow managed to hurt you, or overpower you long enough to capture you. No one would tell me where you were, and I was afraid that it was because they didn't think I could handle the truth of what had happened to you," Tony explained, his voice getting pained at the end.

"Well, you're not entirely wrong about the last part. They wouldn't tell you were I was, because they didn't want you to know I had run away. Given how badly you were reacting to me not being here, they were afraid of what it would do to you," Bruce confessed.

"You left? But Bruce, you promised," he said weakly, his voice filled with hurt.

"I know, but I thought I had hurt you. I thought I had almost killed you . . .and I couldn't . . . I thought I was protecting you by leaving. I really did," he replied tearfully.

Tony reached over and dried his tears once more, and Bruce mentally cursed himself for crying once again. The last few days had been too filled with emotions, and it seemed he couldn't keep them from spilling over. No matter how weak and pathetic it made him.

"I know that look. Stop," Tony said firmly. "Stop beating yourself up. You did what you thought was best. You left, and it hurt me, but you're here now, and that's what matters. 

I understand. I forgive you. Now you need to forgive yourself."

"How? How do you do it?" Bruce asked between his tears as he looked in disbelief at the man who was offering him forgiveness so freely.

"Well, see, I love this amazing man, and his kindness and his gentleness despite all the shit the world has done to him, they made me want to be a better man. A man who's worthy of his love," Tony said fondly.

"I'm pretty sure you've got that backwards," Bruce said, gently planting a kiss on Tony's forehead.

"I'm positive that I don't," he answered firmly, taking Bruce's hand and squeezing it softly in his own.

Their eyes met, and suddenly their serious conversation dissolved into a light discussion of science and the antics of the rest of the team as if it were any other day. It was strange, but it felt completely natural. Like coming home. Returning to the one home that Bruce knew he could never leave again.


End file.
